


Plastic

by AHopefulVoice



Category: Doctor Who, Doctor Who & Related Fandoms, Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Human, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Spy, Based on Chuck, F/M, Gen
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-04-23
Updated: 2014-07-01
Packaged: 2018-01-20 13:49:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 10,261
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1512809
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AHopefulVoice/pseuds/AHopefulVoice
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Awkward nurse Rory Williams is thrown for a loop when he accidentally downloads a top-secret computer program into his brain. Suddenly surrounded by secret agents, Rory must learn to cope with the secrets he is now forced to keep from his friends and family. [Based on Chuck]</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> This is an idea I've had for a while now, and this prologue has been written for a couple months. I've started seriously plotting this out as my next project, but this is me basically putting out feelers for this right now. Based on the response, I may or may not put serious long-term effort into this.
> 
> It's based on Chuck-the show-but with noticeable differences. Anyone from Who canon is fair game as a character, and the different agencies will be further explained later on. Note that both 10 and 11 will be in this; Ten is the Doctor, Eleven is John Smith. Just so you know.
> 
> Enjoy, and let me know what you think!

**Plastic**

_Prologue_

Silver linings were hardly worth the storm, John Smith realized, although too late.  Running through the dark halls with only the city lights pouring through the windows to guide his way, John thought of the girl he had loved since they were children.  He’d only told her how he felt a month ago, before he was pulled into this hellish nightmare.

This assignment wasn’t supposed to take weeks to complete.  It was supposed to be a quick job.  Get in, get the program, get out.  But, of course, things never went to plan and he and his partner had been betrayed at the last minute.  Betrayal led to capture, which led to torture, which, unfortunately, led to John having to make a hasty escape after three weeks of solitary confinement in a cell.  Really, the Stormcage Containment Facility could do with some upgrades.  It wasn’t like the Shadow Proclamation didn’t have its own spies in the system anyway.  Or so he hoped.

Because this escape was way too easy.

Fortunately for him, John’s prison-commissioned boots were broken in and silent against the concrete floors.  He raced down a staircase, jumping over the last half-flight entirely.  His hair had grown significantly during the last few weeks; he kept having to brush his fringe out of his eyes.  His facial hair had grown into a quite impressive, yet scraggly beard that itched his neck whenever he turned his head.

Prison should come with complimentary razors, he thought.

Distracted by thoughts of his unkempt hair and what his--admittedly sexy--partner might think when they met back up, John nearly missed the corridor he was looking for, having to quickly change direction and run back, hoping his partner didn’t make a similar mistake.  Their escapes had been carefully planned so that they could meet up and steal the Nestene Consciousness from these terrorists.

The incredibly bright white corridor ended in a single white doorway.  He immediately tried the handle--unlocked.  River must have beat him here.  A grin on his face, John flung open the door and launched himself into the room.  Inside were rows upon rows of desktop monitors, all active with scrolling lines of numerical code across the screens.  In the back of the room at the center of the last row sat River Song, John’s partner.

He smiled at her form and walked to her after closing the door.  Noticing his approach, she looked up and gave him a wide smile and a wink.  “Hello, sweetie.”  Turning back to her work, she added, “Almost done downloading the program.  They’ve used some really impressive coding.  Although I must say, it’s not nearly a big enough challenge for us.”

Grinning at her, John pulled out a flash drive and shoved it into the USB port, the blinking green light on the device acknowledging the connection.  Typing a few commands into the computer before him, John started rambling like he always did when he was anxious.  “Could use a bit more security around the Nestene Consciousness.  Really, did the Mainframe _want_ to make this easy to steal?  Personally, I feel that--”

Whatever the end of that sentence was, John never got to it, for when he raised his head to see River, all he saw was the barrel of a gun.  No matter what happened next, John knew that time was of the essence.  Eyes flicking down to be sure the computer program was still uploading to the flash drive, John raised his hands above his head and slowly backed away from the workspace.

Holding the gun was a dark-haired woman with heavy black eyeliner and a long neck.  There were two bald men in suits holding guns trained on River, and three more in the back of the room.  “Tasha Lem,” John said, a rather forced smile splitting across his face, “long time, no see.”

“Oh, John Smith,” she commented.  “Many, _many_ intelligence organizations in the world have wanted the Nestene Consciousness, but they were all too afraid.  Nobody wanted to go first.”

“I did,” he said, inching his way back to the computer modem where his flash drive was plugged in.  If he could only reach the button on the back side...

“I was counting on it,” Tasha said, giving a toothy grin in return, using her thumb to flick off the safety on the gun.  “And I was hoping for a bit of a game, honestly.  I gave you one hour to escape and find the transmitter.  Too bad you ran out of time.  Not that we were ever going to let you leave.”

River’s eyes met John’s briefly, and he knew they would be okay.  Between his brains and her brawn, they would still escape.  He just needed to keep talking.  “Oh, I don’t know,” John said, trying to stall.  “I can be very persuasive.”

“I know,” she flirted.  “I remember Skaro quite well.”

John laughed and nodded.  “Too many margaritas with the little umbrellas, but you were a bit of a pushover.”

She suddenly turned serious, finger hovering over the trigger.  “Your time’s up, John Smith.  It’s been a pleasure, but I’m afraid you grew too close to us.  But because I like you, I won’t make you watch me kill your partner.”

“Please, Tasha,” River said, but her tone was not pleading; she was not begging for her life.  In fact, it seemed rather like she was trying to gain control of the situation.  But before John could even think of what to do next, River burst into action, pulling a knife out of her boot and flinging it at the guard with his gun aimed at her.  A shot rang out, but River was faster.  She kicked the other guard in the shin and grabbed his gun, putting a bullet through his brain, and then another in the other man’s chest.  “Put down your weapons!” she ordered of the rest of the room.

Tasha looked around slowly, and gave a brief nod, leading the others in putting their weapons on the carpeted floor.  River took a few steps toward Tasha, smiling at John as she came closer.  Standing equidistant from Tasha and John in a sort of triangular formation, River met John’s eyes and jerked her head toward the computer.

Sensing her drift, John completed the uploading process so that the program was successfully contained on the flash drive.  Safely ejecting the device from the computer, John let out a deep breath and slid the drive into his pocket.

Moving to rise from his knees to his feet, John was surprised when the barrel of River’s gun was suddenly aimed at him.  “River,” he began to say, but she cut him off with her own words.

“John, be a dear and hand over the program,” she commanded, not a hint of a smile on her face.  He finally realized what was going on: River Song was an agent of the Mainframe, and had betrayed him.  There was only one thing left to do.  As he carefully extracted the flash drive from his pocket, he pressed a nail into the screw behind the lightbulb, a secret safety device he had implanted in case he was captured before taking the flash drive back to UNIT.  The program would be sent via email to a previously specified contact in John’s address book: his university roommate, Rory Williams.

John handed over the flash drive, and River accepted it with a smile.  “Sorry, sweetie.”  And pulled the trigger.


	2. Rory vs. the Text Language

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here's the real beginning. Thanks for the support so far.

_Chapter I - Rory vs. the Text Language_

Rory Williams rolled over with a groan, slapping a hand down onto his chirping alarm clock.  Once the blasted thing was silent, he flopped flat on his back, opening his eyes to squint at the ceiling.  His ceiling fan blew in circles around and around and around...

His eyes fluttered open again.  Blimey, mornings were a real pain.  Blowing air through his lips, Rory reached over to the bedside table and grabbed his mobile, inadvertently yanking the cord and knocking two books, the remote control, and his glasses onto the floor.  Ignoring the mess he made, he pressed the home button on his phone and blinked several times to clear his vision.

Like every morning, the first thing Rory did was check his messages.  There were three texts waiting for him--an unusual amount.  The first was from Martha Jones, a doctor at the hospital he’d recently started working at, delivered shortly after midnight.

_Stoker’s on duty tomorrow morning.  Don’t be late._

The second was from his dad.

_Dnnr w gf n dd tmrw nt?_

Whatever the hell that was supposed to mean.  His dad’s message would take a cup of coffee before he could decipher the code.  Really, they shouldn’t let people born before 1960 use text messaging.  As for the last message, it was simply the laundromat he used on a weekly basis.

_Now until Thursday--£1 per load washing and drying!  Don’t miss out!_

Rolling his eyes and wishing he’d never signed up for their text alert system (so bloody useful when he didn’t feel like sitting down at the laundromat for an hour while his clothes were going through the wash cycle or the spin cycle), Rory dropped his hand on his face and rubbed his eyelids, ignoring the biting voice in the back of his mind telling him he would only cause premature wrinkles from distorting the skin so much.  He wasn’t a _girl_.

Rory had almost convinced himself that yes, he _could_ go back to sleep for fifteen more minutes when his phone buzzed again, the screen lighting up with a new text message.  Another indecipherable rune from his father: _jax havin hllwn prty 2nite can u brng roes?_

The sad thing was that this message, while nearly completely unreadable, shed some light on the previous message.  It took some squinting and accidental prodding at the screen that made him have to readjust the size of the message, but Rory was finally able to translate into English what his dad had written.

_Dinner with girlfriend and daughter tomorrow night?_

_Jackie’s having a halloween party tonight can you bring_ [either] _Rose_ or _rice_ , depending on whether his dad had used voice command or not.  

The more likely of the two was Rose, because his dad’s girlfriend’s daughter used to be a frequent patient at the same hospital that Rory worked at, and rice didn’t really make sense at a Halloween party.  Rory texted back a quick assent, thinking that he had no plans tonight unless his schedule got shifted around.  He knew his dad was so keen to have Rory at the ‘family’ gatherings because, even though he’d only been dating Jackie Tyler for three months, Brian Williams was lonely.

And as for Rose Tyler, Rory was incredibly hesitant to hang out with her, not because he didn’t like her (on the contrary, she was actually one of the most genuinely nice people he knew), but because he was nervous his dad would try and set them up.  As far as he could tell, both Brian and Jackie were ready for their children to settle down despite their young ages.

Rory was only twenty-four, and had only been working at the hospital in London for about seven months.  His dad moved to London shortly after Rory because since his mother died six years ago, Rory was the only family Brian had.  Leadworth was Brian’s home, but it was a bit of a dead end after his wife died and son left.

He met Jackie Tyler when he bumped into her while visiting his son at work.  Jackie’s daughter had been in a terrible accident three years before and it had taken a serious toll on her mental health, often bringing her in for checkups.  Brian had hinted at wanting to see Jackie again after an impromptu lunch date, but Jackie was a forward woman, flat out asking for his phone number.

With a yawn, Rory pushed off the covers and set his feet on the floor.  Ever since the latest upgrade, his mobile had not been downloading his emails properly, forcing him to use his computer to check it.  Praying that his schedule would change so he wouldn’t have to go to the party (then changing his mind because, really, was a party worse than a super shift at work?), Rory started up his computer and waited for the internet to connect.

There were ten unread emails waiting in his inbox.  Selecting seven junk mail messages, he quickly checked the other three.  Nothing from the hospital, except one from Lynda Moss (a nurse on the third floor) regarding the annual holiday party (which was still two months away).  Once the junk was deleted, he skimmed Lynda’s email and caught himself nodding off again.

Pinching himself to stay awake, Rory skipped the email from his cousin and went straight for the one staring at him, glaring at him.

It was an email from John Smith, Rory’s university roommate.

Rory hadn’t heard from John in several years.  After graduation, Rory went straight back to Leadworth to work in the hospital and John went to Cambridge.  The summer was spent sending emails back and forth with the occasional Sunday phone call, but then the communication started lagging and eventually stopped.  Rory couldn’t even remember who had been the last one to speak.

And now, after all this time?  Needless to say, Rory was intrigued.

He opened the email.  A blank box with a blinking curser glowed on the otherwise blank screen.  Thinking of what John might put as a password (why would he password protect an email?), Rory typed in his friend’s ultimate catchphrase: G-E-R-O-N-I-M-O.

Images flashed before his eyes.  Taj Mahal.  Radioactive waste.  Great white shark.  Holocaust survivors, crows, sand stars satellites nuclear missiles submarines aeroplanes Nixon violin flag beach ballerina angel books piano rhinos Mozart Van Gogh chameleon scissors eleven ten nine four apple robot plunger whisk cake lorry rabbit Colosseum--

Rory’s head jerked forward like he’d been hit by a truck.

He stared at the black computer screen as the monitor began to emit smoke.  His vision went dark, and he fell back to the floor.

* * *

 

Amelia Jessica Pond stepped off the train, looking around the platform with wide eyes.  The entire station was nearly empty; everyone was at work.  In a few hours, the rush hour crowd would return and the trains would be crammed full.  But for now, Amy was practically alone, and on her way to the hospital.  She had woken up that morning with severe stomach cramps.

Or so was her cover.

In reality, Amy Pond was an MI6 agent on a new case.  An international agent had been captured while trying to retreive sensitive information from a little known terrorist organization known as the Papal Mainframe.  United Nations Intelligence Task-force Agent John Smith had been captured while infiltrating the Mainframe base known as the Stormcage Facility.  He fought his way out before being betrayed by his partner, but not before sending the files to safety.

And according to John Smith, safety was in the hands of a nurse named Rory Williams.

MI6 had traced the files to a computer with an ip address located in a London flat.  It had taken approximately forty-five minutes to do the required research before Amy was called into work for her new mission.  She was briefed and sent out into the field to determine the level of threat and best course of action.

So now, stepping out into the cool autumn air of a clear-skied day, Amy Pond was preparing to do just that.  Dressed like an average civilian who presumably has stomach cramps, she walked the final block to Royal Hope Hospital, and she couldn’t help but hope that maybe this would all be over soon because she was still jet-lagged, having just gotten off the plane from Shanghai six hours ago.

The automatic doors slid open as she approached.  Why did hospitals always have to be frigid?  That was the worst part of being in a hospital, other than the needles and sterile smell.  Of course, the entire thing of hating hospitals was absurd.  She was a spy, had had guns pointed at her, had been shot at, and hated _needles_ of all things.  Then again, everyone had to be afraid of something.

She yawned into her palm as she approached the desk.  Behind it sat a fellow redheaded woman, looking incredibly bored as she clicked the mouse and twirled the pencil behind her ear.  Amy gave a weak smile to the woman when she looked up, and said, “I’d like to check in please.  I’ve had bad stomach pains.”

The woman behind the desk--labeled by her name tag as Donna--raised an eyebrow and said, “Name?”

After filling in the necessary forms and providing the required information, Amy took a seat in the waiting area and tried not to look too comfortable.  Not that that was a particularly difficult feat, mind.  Fortunately for her impatient being, it was only about ten minutes of absentminded flipping through magazines before she was led to a stiff bed in a slightly warmer roomer.

There was a man in the bed opposite her.  He gave her a huge grin and said, “Hello!”

Amy forced a grin at him.  If she was gonna have to be stuck near this nutter all day she might actually go mad.  Just as she was thinking of clever ways to cut off her own ears so she wouldn’t have to listen to this man’s humming, a group of doctors walked in, muttering about Halloween.  There was a very bored looking older man standing before them, glaring at the few who were still whispering to each other.

When they finally got the hint, the doctor asked Amy, “So what are you in here for today, Miss” (he looked down at her chart) “Pond?”

“My stomach’s been cramping,” she answered, lying as smoothly as she possibly could.  Not that these doctors--or medical students, rather--would be able to tell her much except perhaps to take it easy.  They would presumably assume it was her menstrual cycle, which she would let them believe.  If they really wanted to prescribe her some medication, she wouldn’t say no to some serious painkillers for brutal fights against Somalian pirates.

The doctor grabbed her wrist and took her pulse, saying, “Well, let’s see what Britain’s finest might suggest.  Any ideas, Morgenstern?”

One of the young men off to the side answered, “Um, moderate stomach pain has been linked to Lyme disease.”

The doctor--Dr. Stoker, she read--rolled his eyes.  “I highly doubt that.  Swales?”

A woman near the front of the group was passed Amy’s chart and briefly looked it over.  “Recommend a CT scan?”

Dr. Stoker tutted.  “And waste all our money?  No, thank you.  Jones?”

Another woman at the front took the chart and glimpsed down at it.  “Well, it appears she is menstruating right now, so perhaps endometriosis or toxic shock syndrome?”

Again, Dr. Stoker rolled his eyes.  “On the right path, but why don’t we try not assuming the patient is dying when she is clearly healthy except for the pain?  Ms. Pond, have you taken any pain medication?”  She shook her head.  With a sigh, Dr. Stoker called out, “Someone get Ms. Pond paracetamol.  Now,” he said, moving on to the other man’s bed, “Now then, Mister Smith, how are you this afternoon?”

“Oh, not so bad,” the man answered. “Still a bit, you know, blah.”

Dr. Stoker handed the chart to a greedy student with his hands outstretched and said, “John Smith, admitted yesterday with severe abdominal pains.  Jones, why don’t you see what you can find?  Amaze me.”

Amy zoned out with their discussion, focusing instead on the man who just walked in the room: a man she recognized from the folder she’d been given during her briefing.  He was her mark, Rory Williams.

Wearing blue scrubs and a bored expression, Rory walked over to her with a paper cup in his hand.  She gave him a bright smile and was given a shy one in return.  He handed the cup to her before holding out a smaller cup with two orange pills in it.  She swallowed the medicine and handed the cups back to him.  He looked like he was about to walk away, and Amy knew she had to do something quick.  Commence flirting, she decided.

“Is it always this boring in here?” she asked.

Rory Williams shrugged.  “Today seems to be a slow day.  Not that I’m complaining, I mean.  It’s a good thing that people aren’t really hurt.  I don’t usually work here anyway.  I’m usually in the coma ward.  I was asked to cover another nurse’s shift.”

And that, of course, was not a coincidence.  MI6 had conveniently cut out the power on Jenny Flint’s house, causing her to be unable to go to work, and hacking into the hospitals databases to assign Rory Williams to this wing for the day.

Amy looked over and saw that the group of students was gone, and the other man in the bed was watching Rory carefully, but nonchalantly.

She knew a spy when she saw one, and if he was as good as she assumed, he knew she was a spy, too.

Having given the man called John Smith a disarming smile, she turned back to Rory to see that he’d left the room.  Amy groaned and got out of the bed, John Smith hot on her heels.  “What the hell are you doing here?” she asked as he yanked the IV out of his inner elbow.

“My job,” he said.  “Who do you work for?”

Amy kicked over her boots and pulled a knife out of the side pocket, flipping it around in her fingers and pointing it at him.  Damn her thoughts that taking a gun into a hospital was probably a bad idea.  In order to prove her clearance, she pulled her badge out of her handbag.  “MI6.  You?”

He grabbed his brown overcoat and reached in the pocket, pulling out a leather case and showed his badge to her.  “United Nations Intelligence Task-force.  I’m the Doctor.  Now,” he said, “do you mind putting that knife away?  I’m not one for violence.”

“In this line of work?” Amy asked, raising her eyebrows.  “I think you’re in the wrong field, _Doctor_.  If you’ll excuse me, I have a nurse I need to speak to.”

“I’ll accompany you,” he said, much to her chagrin.  “Don’t worry.  I’m the perfect gentleman.”

Under her breath, Amy grumbled, “I’m sure you are.”  She led the way out of the room, only to be confused as to where Rory might be.  The Doctor wasted no time in picking a direction.  Amy followed, figuring that at least she could trust him, even if she didn’t like him.  And it wasn’t like they had the same jurisdiction.  MI6 worked on international threats in the United Kingdom or abroad, and UNIT was sanctioned by the United Nations.  Hell, she was sure their organizations had worked together in the past.  So trusting him wasn’t exactly against the rules.

Although looking at his quite fit bum as he walked in front of her might have been.

The Doctor continued walking when a door to their left opened and the person leaving bumped into Amy.  “Oh, I’m sorry,” the guy said, and Amy was glad to see it was Rory Williams.  When he recognized her, she smiled and listened to him say, “Have you been dismissed?”

“Yeah,” she said.  “Me and Mr. Tight Pants over there were both cleared to leave.  I was just looking for you actually.  I wanted to say thanks for the painkillers and also to give you this.”  Amy reached into her handbag and pulled out one of her business cards.  It just had her name and mobile number on it. Perfect for occasions such as this.  She slid it into his chest pocket with a pat and a wink.

He flushed.

“I’m Amy.”

He nodded for a minute before saying, “Oh, um, I’m--uh, Rory.  Williams.  Rory Williams.”

“Well, then, Rory Williams,” she said, keenly aware that the Doctor was hovering about ten feet away, pretending to be reading a bulletin board covered in health notices regarding swine flu and bird flu and whatever other diseases plagued areas of the globe.  “Do you want to grab coffee later?”

Rory nodded a bit quickly, then realized what he’d done, overcompensating in his casualness to seem cool.  He opened his mouth to say something to her, but he took a glance over at the Doctor and seemed to zone out for a few seconds before jerking back into reality with a painful looking head motion.  He looked at Amy with horror on his face.

Without thinking, he grabbed her hand and pulled her around a corner.  “That man is dangerous!”

Amy furrowed her brow, not wanting to blow her cover.  “What do you mean?”

Rory fumbled for an answer.  How could he possibly know that?  “I recognized him from, uh, the internet,” he lied, and it was incredibly obvious, but Amy let it pass.  “He’s killed people.  Blew up an entire island.”

With a quick peek around the corner, Amy reached down and slid the knife back out of her boot.  Rory did a double take when he saw the weapon in her hand, and she quickly flashed him her badge.  “I work for MI6,” she said, taking his hand and briskly walking in the opposite direction of the Doctor.  “I was never really ill.  I was sent here to protect you.”

“Why me?” he asked, although he feared he knew the answer.  But what would this woman really want from him.

She ignored his question.  “Is there somewhere we can go to hide?”

Rory held the door open for her as they went into the stairwell and began to descend.  “Um, I just got off my shift.  I thought we could grab coffee or something.”

“No time,” Amy interjected.  “We’ve got to get you to safety.”

And as such things always happen at inopportune times, Rory’s phone went off.  He pulled it out of his jacket pocket and looked at the screen.  It was from Rose, the daughter of his dad’s girlfriend.

_Ready when you are._

“Damn,” he muttered, having completely forgotten about Jackie Tyler’s Halloween party and being sure to head over with Rose after work.  “I’ve got this party to go to, and I have take Rose with me, and I don’t have a costume.”

Amy looked at him and said, “We’ll make this work.  Come on.  Who’s Rose?  Your girlfriend?”

Rory paled.  “Uh, no.  My dad’s girlfriend’s daughter actually.  She works down the street.  In that department store, Henrik’s.  Her mum’s having a Halloween party and I was asked to accompany her there since we work near each other.  I’m sorry, but I can’t back out of another thing or my dad’ll think I’m doing it on purpose.”

She shrugged as they ran down another flight, almost to the bottom of the stairs.  “I can protect you at a party.  Lots of places to hide in a crowd, and especially at a costume party.  We can find you something.  In fact, I have a favor to call in.”  She pulled out her mobile and selected a number.  “Hey, Mels.  Remember the time I flew to Uruguay just to pay your bail money so the boss wouldn’t find out?  Yeah, well, I need a favor.”


	3. Rory vs. the Vampire

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Rory learns a bit about his new friend, and a Halloween party is attended.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the delay, and note that I've changed a few things in the previous chapter.

_Chapter II - Rory vs. the Vampire_

An hour later, Rory and Amy had found Rose and were on the Tube heading towards Rose’s home.  It was a bit of an awkward situation, although Rory was grateful for Amy’s company since it would hopefully prevent his dad from pushing him towards Rose.  Surely dating his dad’s girlfriend’s daughter was some sort of incest.

They were approaching the second to last stop before they got off when someone bumped into Amy and dropped a large bag in her lap.  As the train was crowded, it was hard to see who had left it.  Rory was nervous that it was a bomb, but Amy seemed unconcerned with the matter.

Once they got off the train, Amy opened it up after letting Rose get a little bit ahead.  She was chatting on the phone with one of her friends, trying to convince them to come to the party, suitably distracted.  Inside were two costumes: a police officer uniform and a Roman centurion kit.

Amy grinned.  “You can be Rory the Roman.”

He wasn’t sure what to say in response, but it wasn’t supposed to be, “Is Amy even your real name?”

She looked taken aback for a moment, but it passed.  “Of course.  That whole changing names thing is just in the movies.”

“Oh.”

Rose was waiting for them when they reached the top of the stairs.  They all swiped their cards to pass through the barriers, and walked outside.  Rory was a naturally perceptive person (most of the time) and noticed that, as they walked past a group of rough looking people, Rose folded in on herself a bit.  The group called out to her, but she didn’t give them the time of day.

For some reason, he was proud of her for that.

It wasn’t an incredibly far walk to the council estate that Rose lived on with her mother, but Rory was still glad when they were able to get out of the gusty, chilly air.  The corridors and stairs were littered with candy wrappers, with the occasional group of children passing by, screaming for sweets.

Rose smiled at a couple of kids, and Rory wondered if she would leave the estate if her mum did.  Not that he had heard if his dad was going to ask her mum would move in with him--God, he did _not_ want to think about that sort of thing--but it was still a thought that ran through his head.

They finally reached Rose’s flat, and she let them in, flipping on the light switch as they all walked in.  She and Rory instantly regretted it.

Jackie and Brian all but jumped into the air, instantly separating from where they were cuddled together on the sofa.  Rory covered his eyes with his hands and Rose groaned.  “Mum,” she whinged, “do ya have to do that right on the sofa?  Sorry, Brian, I jus’--oh, never mind.”  She trudged into the kitchen, and Rory stood there awkwardly until Amy nudged him with her elbow.

“Oh!”  Looking quickly at Amy before returning his gaze back to his dad and Jackie, he said, “Um, this is Amy.  We met today and, uh...”

She was quick to pick up where he left off.  “I didn’t have anything going on tonight, so Rory invited me over.  I hope that’s alright.”

Jackie stood up and righted her clothing.  “O’ course it is!  Th’ more, th’ merrier, that’s what I always say.  Loads of people are comin’ over.  One more ain’t gonna make a difference.”

“Cool,” said Rory, still disturbed from the vision of seeing his dad snogging a woman.  There were just some things children were never meant to see.  “So, uh, is there anything you want me to do?”

Rubbing her hands together, Jackie looked around the flat and said, “I don’t think so.  Loo’s just down the way if you want to get changed into your costumes.”  Without a word, Rose took off down the hall and reached a hand in a room on the right.  Flipping a switch, the lights illuminated the bathroom.  Rose went into a very pink bedroom across the hall and closed the door.

Rory motioned for Amy to get changed first.  She grinned at him and closed the door behind her.  Rory heard some shuffling behind Rose’s bedroom door, followed by a thump.  His attention, however, was drawn to the kitchen, where he could hear his dad chuckling and Jackie giggling.  Resisting the urge to smash his head against the wall, he looked at the bag containing his Roman costume.

Just as he picked it up, Amy opened the door, clad in a somewhat tight fitting and certainly not regulation police uniform, complete with bowler hat and checkered patterns.  Rory tried his best not to gawp at her legs.  Legs and legs and legs that went on for _days_.

Before his brain could filter his words, he said, “How am I supposed to trust you?”

Amy looked a little surprised at his outburst, but not offended.  “Because I work for MI6.”

“Yeah, but isn’t the rule there ‘if I told you, I’d have to kill you’ or something like that?”

She laughed and shrugged.  “No one would believe you anyway.  I’m just a kiss-o-gram from Scotland.”

“What did that other man want with me anyway?”

Amy sighed and looked down the hall before pulling him into the bathroom and shutting the door.  “Look,” she whispered, “my friend emailed you something, yeah?”  At Rory’s nod, she continued, “John Smith was an MI6 agent, just like me.  We were best mates.  He and his partner went on an assignment to find this program, this, like, computer database that was top secret and really, really dangerous and compromising for us.  It had all of Britain’s secrets and many things belonging to other Western nations.  The United Nations was taking hold of it to keep it safe.  If in the wrong hands, this program--it’s called the Nestene Consciousness--could lead to the end of the world.

“Anyway, John went on this mission with his partner, only something went wrong.  He was captured and betrayed somewhere along the way, and only had time to do one thing: email the Plastic to you.”

Rory held up his hands to stop her.  “Hang on, what’s this thing called?  This thing that’s now in my head?”

“The official title,” she explained, “is the Nestene Consciousness.  We’ve always called it the Plastic.  One of the original plans for the program was to create plastic dummies controlled by the program to use as soldiers or decoys.  It’s basically a super computer.  I don’t pretend to understand it.  I’m not much of a computer person.  All I do is take out the bad guys.  That’s my job, to protect you.  And that’s from now until we can get the Plastic out of your head.  Now go get your costume on.  People have been knocking at the front door for a few minutes now and the party’ll be starting.”  With a smile, she added, “Always did love a good party.”

Amy tapped his cheek like an old lady might to a young boy, and stepped out of the room, sealing him in his privacy.

Alone, Rory stared at his reflection in the mirror.  Twelve hours ago, he was a normal bloke.  Now, he was a super secret super computer with actual bad guys after him.  If he weren’t scared out of his mind, he might have thought it was a cool situation.  He was no James Bond.  He was Rory Williams, nurse and regular guy.  Awkward and normal and-- _Plastic_.

He sighed and started changing into his costume.  It was actually kind of cool.  The entire thing was thorough, down to the gladiator sandals.  He did elect to keep his pants on under the skirt, though.  He wasn’t getting _that_ into character.  Besides, if he was Plastic now, who knew when he would have to run for his life?

By the time he’d completely dressed and left the bathroom, the living room was full of people.  He looked around for Amy, thinking it would probably be best if he stuck near her.  She was standing in the far corner, casually peeking out the window with a frown on her face.  Her _pretty_ face--nope, Rory was not going there right now.

The room was full of chatter, and Rory nearly tripped over a child dressed as a dinosaur, falling clear onto Rose’s lap.  “Whoa,” he said, getting to his feet as quickly as humanly possible. “Sorry, Rose.”

She was wearing her clothes from earlier in the day, having only added a black witch hat.  She looked miserable, tapping her mobile against her chin.  “No problem.”

“Are you alright?”

Rose stared off into the distance for a bit, before realizing he had been speaking to her and shaking her head to invigorate herself.  “Oh, yeah, ‘m fine.  Waitin’ on my mates.”

“O-kay,” Rory said slowly, hesitating a minute before walking over to Amy.  Her frown had grown into a grimace; she was picking at her lips with her long fingernails.

“We’ve got company,” she said, looking pointedly at the front door to the flat.

Rory spun around a little too quickly, nearly knocking himself off balance, and saw the man from the hospital walk into the room.  He was wearing a brown pin-striped suit and ivory trainers.  The look on his face could easily be described as focused.  It was like his eyes were binoculars or something; his sharp gaze passed over the room until it settled on Rory and Amy.

Amy looked completely confident in herself as the man began to walk over, but Rory wasn’t so sure.  They had quite literally backed themselves into a corner and now a dangerous man was approaching with God knew how many weapons stashed somewhere in his skinny frame.

“Rory Williams?” asked the man when he was mere feet away.  Rory was too stiff to answer, but he got the impression that it wasn’t so much a question as a proof of knowledge.  “I’m going to have to ask you to step outside with me.  We need to speak.”

“Like hell you will,” interjected Amy.  “I got to him first.  He’s my asset now.”

The man rolled his eyes.  “I told you earlier, I work for UNIT.  MI6 was simply collecting the information to pass along to us.  I’m merely negating a step.”

“Sorry,” Rory said, raising his hands up as he stood between the two spies, “but what’s unit?”

“United Nations Intelligence Task-force,” said the man.  “I’m the Doctor.  Now, please, follow me.”  He turned and headed for the door.  Rory glanced at Amy and she gave him a curt nod and a meaningful glance--one of those ‘I’m right behind you’ looks accompanied with her hand gripping his (admittedly weak) bicep.

Making their way through the partygoers, Rory was filled with a little relief once they were outside of the tiny flat.  Although standing on the balcony overlooking the courtyard wasn’t much better.  “Alright,” Amy said roughly, folding her arms across her chest, “what do you want?”

“Other than a banana daiquiri, tickets to _The Lion King_ , and world peace?” he asked, and Rory couldn’t tell if the man was being serious or not.  “I’d like to get my job done so I can get back into other things.”

“B-but you’re an assassin!” Rory said quickly, entirely without meaning to speak at all.

The Doctor didn’t move, but flicked his eyes to meet Amy’s.  “Did he download the Nestene Consciousness into his brain?”  She nodded, and he took a deep breath.  “Alright Rory Williams.  Did you get that information from some sort of flash in your head when you looked at me?”  He nodded.  “Did that happen when you looked at Amy?”

Rory’s forehead crinkled and the Doctor sighed.  He made a motion for Rory to look at Amy-- _really_ look at her--and waited for Rory to do so.  Rory looked at the woman he had hoped would be his friend and was thrown off balance when an assault of images shuffled in front of his eyes, proving that Amelia Pond was a dangerous woman.

Feeling sick to his stomach (and not just because of the danger), Rory stumbled backwards, straight into the Doctor.  “Sorry,” he mumbled, pressing the heel of his hand into his forehead. As he looked between the two spies, Rory said, “I can’t decide which of you I’m more afraid of right now.”

“Me,” both the Doctor and Amy said simultaneously before glaring at each other, like it was some sort of twisted competition.  It would have been comical, if Rory weren’t completely overwhelmed with the entire situation.

“Look,” Rory said, raising his hands like a surrender, “I don’t know anything about the two of you, and the more I think about this, the more I realize that I’m totally crazy.  If this is such a dangerously powerful thing in my head, how do I know that the two of you aren’t really bad guys who are going to kill me?”

“Okay, that’s a fair point,” Amy said after a brief pause.  “But in front of all these people?  Not likely.  Besides, we really do just want to keep you safe.”  The Doctor nodded in agreement with her statement.  “That doesn’t mean there aren’t going to be other people in the world who aren’t going to want to hurt you.”

The Doctor gave Rory a sad smile.  “It wouldn’t have taken long for the Papal Mainframe to realize that John Smith sent the Nestene Consciousness to someone else.  Just because you’re a civilian doesn’t mean that they’ll leave you alone.  In fact, they’ve probably already found you.  They’re here, just behind me and Agent Pond.  Just one man, counting on you being an easy target and unprotected.  Fortunately, the two of us have been specifically assigned to protect you, Rory Williams.”  To Amy, he added, “Vampire behind you.”

Amy spun around, fists raised, and landed a punch square in the vampire’s jaw.  He staggered back, fangs bared, and, all in all, was quite ridiculous to watch.  He took a swing at Amy, but the Doctor was quicker, throwing out a hand and catching the man in the stomach.  Even though the wind had been knocked out of him, he was undeterred, charging at Amy with his entire weight behind him.

She ducked out of the way, but Rory, who had moved behind her as a sort of human shield, stood directly in his path.  Shoved up against the wall, Rory emitted a girlish scream and waited for the fatal blow.  It never came.

With the Doctor holding his arms behind his back, the vampire grunted as Amy delivered kick to the stomach after punch to the jaw after jab in the shin.  Once he was on the verge of passing out (Rory would know; he worked with coma patients for a living), Amy stepped back and the Doctor swung him over the railing so he was hanging at least twenty feet off the ground.  Slowly and carefully, causing a shiver to run up Rory’s spine, the Doctor muttered, “He is protected.”

And dropped him.

There was a sickening crack, and Rory fought the urge to run and help the man who had just tried to kill him.

“Um,” he stammered, “thanks.”

“No problem,” Amy said, as the Doctor just nodded.  Turning to the other agent, she added, “So I guess we’re allies now?”

“Well,” said the Doctor, rubbing a hand over the back of his neck, “I suppose, just so long as I clear it with the Brigadier first, but yes.  Allies.”  He extended a hand to Amy, and after she shook it, did the same to Rory.  “I expect we’ll be seeing quite a lot of each other from now on, Mr. Williams.  At least until we can figure out how to extract the Nestene Consciousness and deliver it safely to UNIT headquarters.”

“So, uh, are you gonna tell us your actual name?” asked Rory.

With a cryptic smile, the Doctor said, “Nah.  If I told you, I’d have to kill you.”

“ _And_ that’s where the cliches start to come in,” Rory said with a resolute nod.  The Doctor smiled again, then turned and walked off, leaving Rory and Amy alone in the corridor.

Rory finally registered the music playing from inside the Tyler flat.  He could feel the bass thumping beneath his feet and reverberating through his bones.  “Fancy a dance?” Amy asked, smiling brightly at him.

He nodded, and they walked back inside.  Having merged with the crowd so that they were moving with the rest, Rory said to Amy, “Thanks again for, well, you know.”

“It’s my job, Rory,” she said, and he’d never truly appreciated a Scottish accent until now.  She paused and danced a bit before continuing to say, “Did John ever dance with his arms above his head and his shoulder slumped?”

“Like this?” Rory asked, demonstrating his roommate’s signature dance move.  At Amy’s nod and outburst of laughter, he grinned.  “All the time.  We called it the Drunken Giraffe!”

Amy shook her head in disbelief at John’s stupidity.  “God, I miss him.  He was my best mate.”

Rory kept dancing, but was silent for a moment longer.  “Yeah,” he said, “mine, too.”


	4. Rory vs the New Guy

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the delay! Just a warning, there are mentions of depression, rape, abuse, and suicidal thoughts in this chapter. If you need to speak with me about it, feel free to contact me here or on tumblr (hope-the-lionheart). 
> 
> Enjoy!

_Chapter III - Rory vs. the New Guy_

Martha Jones hurried into the psychiatric ward of Royal Hope, praying the clocks would be a little slow on this rainy morning.  It was hardly her fault there was a tube delay and major traffic jams on the streets.  Even pedestrian traffic was cocked up.  Martha was in her fourth year of residency to become a psychiatrist.  In four months, she would be able to practice on her own, and she didn’t think she wanted to work in a hospital anymore.  Having her own practice would allow her the freedom she needed to care for her family and her patients.

She had woken up at four this morning in order to run the errands she needed to do before her shift started at nine.  They were having her brother’s birthday party that night and it was left to Martha to make sure everyone was prepared mentally and physically, never mind that she did not live at home and had a full-time job.  She had to pick up the cake and her sister’s dry-cleaning before dropping them off at home, confirm her mum’s hair appointment, and make sure there were vegetarian options for her dad’s girlfriend.

And now she was very nearly late for work.

Sparing a quick glance at the white board to see what she was supposed to be doing currently, Martha tightened her ponytail and took off at a brisk walk that wasn’t quite a run since that would be breaking the rules, heading towards a room with a patient whom Martha had sincerely hoped she would never see again.

With a sigh, Martha opened the door and caught the tail end of an almost shouting match that promptly cut off when she stepped through the doorway.  Both mother and daughter stared at her.  “Hello,” Martha said cheerfully, trying to help by being normal.

“Hullo,” the patient said, her mother just giving a repugnant “humph!”

Martha picked up the girl’s chart to see what she had been admitted for this time.  Scratchy handwriting that Martha didn’t recognize and could hardly read (which was saying something for a doctor’s handwriting) was all over the place.  She squinted and turned the damned thing upside down even but she could barely read what it said.

She sighed, and decided to ask directly in case the illegible doctor who wrote that never came back.  Surely a new intern wouldn’t have been allowed to scribble on the charts.  Walking over to the heart monitor, Martha asked, “What’s wrong this time, Rose?”

The blonde obviously would have folded her arms across her chest if it weren’t for the IV stuck in her left elbow.  Still, her fingers twitched and grasped at the blanket covering her legs.  “Mum brought me in.”

Martha raised an eyebrow at Jackie Tyler, who sniffed and said, “I caught her with a bleedin’ handful of her prescriptions, that’s what!  You can’t tell me that’s good for her!”

“I wasn’t gonna take ‘em, Mum!” Rose snapped.

“Looked like it to me.”

“Gawd, I ain’t gonna kill myself!  Just wanted to stop thinkin’ about it for a while.”

Jackie crossed her arms and said, “It’s been a year and a half, Rose.”

At that, Rose burst into tears, pressing the heel of her hand between her tightly shut eyes.  “It don’t help that anywhere I go on the estate, people are givin’ me looks an’ callin’ me names.  I’m tired of being a slut or a bint or a whore, just because I didn’t stop the rumors when I should have!  So stop blamin’ me!”

The door opened again, and in walked a flustered man.  He had a stethoscope around his neck, but wore no lab coat.  He was tall, with messy brown hair, and unrecognizable to Martha.  His hospital ID labeled him as a doctor, though, so she had to wonder if he was the man with the messy handwriting who bollocksed up the charts.

He stared at them for a few seconds, mouth opening and closing like he couldn’t decide whether to speak or not, but finally settled for saying, “I can come back later, if--”

“No,” Jackie interrupted, moving to stare out the window at the car park.  “I’d rather get home, thanks.”

The doctor nodded and moved towards Martha to take the chart out of her hands.  The way he barely skimmed over it confirmed Martha’s suspicions that he was the one to check Rose in.  “Ah, yes,” he said, flipping over to the second page, “Miss Tyler.  What can I do for you?”  A childish smile grew on his face, and Martha got the sudden urge to smack him.

“Sorry,” she said, “but who are you?”

His grin growing even wider, he looked at her and said, “Dr. John Smith, previously in pediatrics and cardiology and neurology, but now I thought I’d try my hand in psychiatry.  Just got back from a few years abroad actually.  Go ahead and call me the Doctor, all my friends do.”  Martha stared at him, so he turned back to Rose. “Like I said, here for psychiatry, now overseeing the completion of Miss Jones’s residency here at Royal Hope.  So what can I do to help?”

Before Rose could open her mouth to speak, Jackie was saying, “Rose tried to kill ‘erself again.”

The Doctor looked between the two blonde women, finally settling on Rose for her side of the story.  She rolled her eyes and grimaced.  “I did not!  I just wanted to up my medication so I wouldn’t have to bloody feel things anymore!”

Looking down at her chart, the Doctor read, “One hundred fifty milligrams sertraline for depression, obsessive compulsive disorder, and anxiety, twenty-five milligrams hydroxyzine for anxiety and panic attacks...”

Jackie was quick to explain.  “She was raped, that’s why her head’s all messed up.  She was fine before--”

Rose groaned.  “I was sixteen, it was almost three years ago, I’m _fine_!  At least I’m not getting my hands into the illegal drugs to make it better!”

“You are not fine!  If only they’d caught that bastard, I’d break into prison and tear off his manhood myself--”

“Sorry,” the Doctor interrupted.  “Who are you?”

The woman turned on him.  “Jackie Tyler, Rose’s mother.”

“Yes,” he said, briefly glancing at Martha, who was giving him an amused expression that clearly meant ‘you’re-on-your-own-mister.’  “Well, as Rose is legally an adult, I’m going to have to ask you to leave the room.  Please.”  Jackie gaped at him and started to protest indeterminable sounds.  “Don’t worry.  Martha will be in here, seeing as she’s my mentee.”

Jackie had to be ushered out of the room, and once the door shut behind her, Rose started peeling back the tape on the inside of her elbow.  “Whoa!” Martha said.  “What are you doing?  You’ve got to leave that in.  You haven’t finished all your fluids yet.”

Rose just shook her head.  “Mum’s right.  I should just go home.  ‘m wastin’ all your time here.  I’m sure there are real crazy people who need help.”

Martha had her hands wrapped around Rose’s arm, trying to keep her from pulling out the needle.  She sent a pointed look in the Doctor’s direction, silently seeking reinforcement.  He made an “Oh!” noise of realization and jumped to take Rose’s free hand so she couldn’t reach the needle.  “No, no, Miss Tyler,” he said, “you’re staying here until that bag is empty.”

“Don’t need it,” she muttered, struggling to contort her wrist so she could somehow reach her elbow with the attached hand.

“Yes, you do.  And since you’re so set on going home, I’m tempted to keep you overnight to be sure you’re going to be alright.”

Rose froze, slowly turning her head to stare up at him.  Martha watched the exchange carefully, using this distraction to reapply the tape Rose had managed to peel off.  “No,” Rose whispered. “Please, I just wanna go home.”  Tears welled up in her eyes, and it was fairly obvious she was seriously distraught.

The Doctor looked to Martha since she actually had a history with the patient, but she just shrugged.  He was the doctor here; it was his prerogative what to do with Rose Tyler.  “Fine,” he said.  “You can go once the bag is empty.  I’m upping your dosage to two hundred milligrams of the sertraline, but keeping the hydroxyzine at fifty.  Make an appointment to come back in two weeks, and if you haven’t improved, we will start changing your prescriptions.”

“Thank you,” she said, muscles visibly relaxing.  She closed her eyes and nodded as he kept speaking.

“A nurse will be with you shortly to remove the IV and start the check out process.  I’ll send your mother in.”  The Doctor made a few more notes onto the chart (Martha would have to remember to ask him about his awful handwriting), then started for the door.  She straightened up the room while he briefly spoke with Jackie, basically just repeating what he’d said to Rose, only adding, “and be sure to keep her medicine with you so she can’t overdose.”

As Jackie walked into the small room, Martha walked out.  The Doctor had stopped just outside the door, so she nearly bumped into him if she hadn’t looked up at just the right moment.  With a small jerk of his head, he motioned for her to follow him.  They stepped into the break room, currently vacant, and he poured them cups of tea.

“I presume you know the whole story.”  It wasn’t a question.

Martha did a motion that was half-nod, half-shrug.  “I know bits and pieces.  She’s come in a few times over the last three years.  I’ve usually been here when she does, but that was only my second time actually looking in on her.  She was sexually assaulted as a teenager, drugged and raped by an unnamed man.  I think she knows who he was, but wouldn’t give his name, saying it didn’t matter.  Then she got involved in an abusive relationship, eventually moving in with him.  She had a really rough time of it, dropped out of school and everything.  I’ve never really spoken with her.  I don’t think she and her mum get on well.  Though who does, honestly.”

The Doctor took a long drink of his tea, staring out the glass of the door where a nurse could be seen walking into Rose Tyler’s room to check on her.  “Poor girl.”

“Yeah,” Martha said.  “I can’t even imagine.”

“No father?”

She shook her head.  “I don’t know the story, just what I hear from other people.”  After a moment, she added, “I didn’t know the department was getting a new doctor.”

Belatedly, he said, “Hm?  Oh, uh, yes.  It was sort of a last minute thing.  I know the Chief and he offered me a place here.  Guess I should get back to work.  If you need anything, let me know.”

He was already out the door before Martha could say, “Think I’d expect you asking me, to be honest.”  She finished the tea, dropping the paper cup in the bin as she walked through the door, off to continue her rounds.

Lunch was uneventful, if a bit shorter than usual due to an emergency that required the presence of the majority of her friends.  Left alone with Rory Williams, a nurse who was pretty boring since he was so quiet, Martha chose to throw away the remains of her salad and go for a power nap.

If she had stayed, she might have seen the new doctor--known just as the Doctor--approach Rory and sit down at his table.

Rory looked up in surprise.  “What are you doing here?”

The Doctor broke the top of a banana and began to peel it as he spoke.  “I work here.  They’ve put me in psychiatry.  I do like the mind, though I think I’d be of more use in cardiology.  I’ve got plenty of experience concerning the heart.”

Simply staring at him, Rory had to blink a few times before he could speak again.  “Are you even a real doctor?”

“‘Course I am!” said the Doctor, biting off part of the banana and chewing with his mouth open.  “Governments need doctors too.  Just because it isn’t all I do doesn’t mean I haven’t practiced before.”

“You don’t look old enough to have gone through medical school, practiced medicine, _and_ be a full-time spy,” Rory remarked.

“How old do you think I am?”

“I don’t know,” he said, looking the Doctor over, “thirty-five.  Thirty-six?”

“Hm.  Still got it, then.”  He grinned at Rory.  “Have you been privy to any more secret government information today, Rory Williams?”

Rory shook his head.  “It’s all been normal.  Why?  Should I have seen something?”

“Nah,” said the Doctor.  “Just curious, me.  Ah!” he exclaimed, seeing Amy approach the table.  “Agent Pond, what a lovely surprise, seeing you here.”

“Shut it,” she said, reaching her hand over and taking a handful of crisps off of Rory’s tray.  He objected and she shot him a glare, easily shutting him up.  “I’m working at the shop here now, though I think I’m seriously overqualified.  I mean, couldn’t I at least have worked hospital security so I could carry a gun?”

“I don’t like guns,” said the Doctor, peeling more of his banana.  “I do like little shops.  I went to a hospital once in New York that didn’t even have a little shop.  Really could’ve done with a little shop so people can, y’know...shop.”

Amy and Rory stared at him blankly, wondering how someone so brilliant could come across so stupid.  Blinking a few times, Rory said, “Yeah, well, I need to get back to work.”

“Oh, before you go,” said the Doctor, pausing to swallow the last bit of his banana, “wasn’t that Rose Tyler with the crazy mum the one from the party?”

Rory nodded.  “S’pect I’ll be going over there for dinner.  Dad will have freaked out.  She’s a good person, really.  She’s just been through some rough stuff.  She’ll be okay.  I think she just needs a friend.  My dad keeps trying to set the two of us up, which is weird on so many levels.  Her ex-boyfriend is in prison now, so that always helps.  Anyway, I really need to get going.”

He stood and walked off, leaving Amy alone with the Doctor.  They were both silent for a few minutes, before Amy said, “You got cleared with the Brigadier General to become partners, then?”

The Doctor nodded.  “Yep.  UNIT and MI6 are officially working together now, not that we weren’t before.  Although I have no idea how we’re supposed to get the Plastic out of his head.”

“Aren’t you always going on about how much of a genius you are?” Amy asked, narrowing her eyes.  “You’ll figure it out.  Though I’m hoping something will happen soon.  My trigger finger is starting to itch.”

“I really hate guns,” the Doctor said.

Amy looked at him carefully.  “I smell a backstory.”

“Not today, you don’t,” quipped the Doctor, standing and picking up the remains of his lunch.  “I have more patients to go cure.”  He grinned at her, a wide, toothy thing, and sauntered off, his unorthodox footwear squeaking on the floor.

Putting her face in her hands, Amy sighed.  This was turning out to be a quite dull assignment.

* * *

 

“So he’s downloaded the program into his mind?”

“Yes.  And now UNIT and MI6 are involved.”

“Well, that won’t be a problem.  MI6 is wrapped around our little finger.”

“Speak for yourself.  The rest of us are working from scratch.  Just because you and your team of well-dressed assassins have an inside job within the British government--”

“Oh, stop Kovarian.  You’re jealous of my agents’ ability to be silent while still keeping their _head_ \--”

“That’s just not fair--”

“Are you two just going to argue the whole time?  I swear, this interrogation is probably the least efficient one I’ve ever been in, and that’s saying something.  Unless this is your form of torture, in which case I’ll say it’s pretty effective.  Having to listen to the two of you just ramble on and on and on about absolutely nothing is not cool.  There’s so much I’d rather be doing right now than listening to you two natter on about who’s better connected.”

“Don’t make me shoot you again.”

“At least it would be entertaining.  For all parties, even.”

“Shut up, John Smith.”


End file.
